Ok. I'm running a little behind here. I wrote this post weeks ago and it's been languishing in my drafts. At the rate I'm going, I figure old news is better than no news.

Three weeks ago, I took a weekend business trip to Atlanta. With the exception of arriving late in Charlotte and having to run to catch my connecting flight and coupled with the fact that I did not end up standing on a wing in the middle of the Hudson River, the trip was flawless.

You'll recall from my last post that my wardrobe was a burning issue. I traveled in jeans. The bad news is that I broke my vow and bought a pair in a larger size. The good news is that while I am no longer an 8, I am also not a 10. By the time I reached Charlotte, the fricken things were falling off of me and dragging on the ground. I ditched them in CLT and donned a pair of black slacks. (That was for you, Thystle.)

The Atlanta airport is huge. Had I known there was a train that runs from one end to the other, I'd have avoided walking the 6 miles between one gate and the rapid transit system that took me directly to downtown. By the time I reached it, my feet were screaming get the F off of me. It dropped me less than a block from from America's Mart, the biggest fricken design and gift center I've ever seen. Which was less than a block away from my hotel. Round trip MARTA fare - four bucks. This was a seriously good deal which did nothing to prepare me for my one hotel meal.

On Sunday morning, I decided to continue my morning breakfast routine - two eggs, over easy, wheat toast, beans and coffee ($3.24 plus tip at my diner.) The same breakfast in the Hyatt dining room? $24.79 plus tip. WTF? Exactly what can be done to eggs to make them worth my entire breakfast budget for a week? If I hadn't known my waiter was completely innocent, I'd have dipped my cloth napkin in my $4.75 cup of coffee (are you fricken kidding me?) and snapped his skinny ass with the end of it. I know. I got issues.

I arrived home Monday morning in a summer weight jacket. The guy next to me on the plane was wearing flip flops. The shuttle drove right past my car - buried under 9" of snow and plowed in on three sides. Dropped me off forty cars away. At a deserted bus stop. At 1:15 am. Just so you know, two overloaded rolling suitcases full of pottery do not roll in the snow.